


Subdue

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Harry Potter, Angry Ron Weasley, Concerned Harry Potter, Concerned Hermione Granger, Confused Harry Potter, F/M, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Male Homosexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Harry returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year, he isn't expecting to have to /babysit/ Draco Malfoy with some of his best friends. However, as time goes on, he realizes that maybe there's more than a prick behind Malfoy
Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! So um... if you're triggered by self-harm, self-deprication or suicide attempt, then I definitely suggest you don't read this fic

It wasn't Dumbledore's office anymore.

When McGonagall had taken over after the war was won, she had redecorated, and it wasn't /Dumbledore's/ anymore. The book titles were all different, and the huge chair wasn't shiny leather now, instead it was padded with thick, velvety fabric. She had draped a blood-red carpet over the stairs, and the plague at the desk read 'McGonagall' instead of 'Dumbledore'.

But it wasn't even /bad/ different.

It was just the kind of different that pricked under your skin like an itch you were too lazy to scratch; not necessary, just kind of annoying. It was weird, and Harry didn't like it at all. He hated the new books, he hated the chair, the carpet, and the new plaque.

But then again, he kind of hated a lot of things in the scenario he was in right now.

He hated that the office didn't smell like lemon pops anymore, instead the scent of soft cat fur and warm candle wax was cloying his nose. He hated the ugly scar that had once seared into the back of his hand, "I won't tell lies' sneering back at him every day. He hated how often he fixed his glasses, and how much they slipped down the slender bridge of his nose.

He hated that he was standing next to Draco Malfoy in McGonagall's office, reading an official letter from the Ministry with a thick wax seal stamped into the envelope.

He loathed with a sick, twisting hatred how Draco looked. Blonde hair that had once been sleek, fluffy and impeccably styled was now dirty, darker due to the few washings it had taken. A thick, dull fringe hung limply, tickling his sharp, tiny nose. His previously clear pale skin was nearly translucent with his poor diet, bones protruding sharply, darkened frown lines imbedded deeply in his skin.

His robes, once draped in finery and stitched with expensive taste and silver threads, now only held traces of their lost beauty. He looked like Harry used to when he had worn Dudley's old things, the clothes making him seem like he was drowning, the fabric old and ugly, only a hint of their pricely quality leaking through.

Harry hated the contents of the letter with a burning passion.

"Do you understand the circumstances, Mr. Potter?"

Oh yeah, he definitely understood the circumstances.

"Yes, Professor," he grumbled.

"Would you like to explain everything to Mr. Malfoy?" she asked in a tone that clearly stated that she wasn't actually asking him if he wanted to or not. Gritting his teeth, Harry tightened his hand on the flimsy scrap of paper, his fingernails slicing crescent shape dents into the letter.

"No problem, Professor." He turned to Malfoy, who didn't even raise his head. "So, Malfoy... uh, this piece of paper, well, have you read it?"

A shake of the head, silent and so unlike the Draco he used to know was his only answer.

"Why not?" Harry really wasn't trying to be rude, he was just wondering why someone wouldn't read their own mail.

Draco just scowled and raised his hands.

The flesh on his palms looked like it had been seared with a burning hot poker, either that or thrust deep into a fire. The reddened, enflamed skin was peeling slightly, looking raw and chafed and... well, pretty fucking painful.

"What the /hell/, Malfoy!" He hadn't even bandaged it! "How did you get /that/!? And how does that explain why you didn't read the letter?!"

Harry wanted to take a closer look at those hands, perhaps wrap them up and dab some antiseptic and burn cream on the palms, but he quelled the strange desire, choosing instead to tap his foot impatiently as he waited for an answer.

He didn't get one, just a shrug from McGonagall. "He really only talks if he really needs to," she explained, making Harry roll his eyes. Just Malfoy being dramatic, as per usual. "From the look of the wound, it looks rather like there was a spell on the envelope that doesn't let him touch it." Her eyes narrowed. "There's a similar spell on his wand."

"...Oh." A slight frown pulled the corners of his lips downwards.

That seemed cruel, even for the Ministry of Magic, to send a letter with Draco's name on it, then scald his hands with their hatred the second he touched it. McGonagall seemed to be feeling the same, as her eyes were trained fixedly on the nasty, enflamed skin of Draco's palms.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, emerald eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, the letter just says that you can either stay a year at Hogwarts instead of staying in house arrest with your mom. If you keep your grades up, then you don't have to go back before the year ends."

Draco nodded, a frustrated look on his face.

"But there's kind of a catch..."

Malfoy's fingers began to twitch, the slender digits soon fidgeting with the fraying edges of his too-big robes to distract himself.

"You're rooming with me, Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean." He couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into his already cold tone. "We're keeping an eye on you so you don't go batshit again."

So much for a carefree, fun, final year at Hogwarts. Instead, he was stuck with a blonde, skinny, stuck up prat who he was supposed to babysit with some of his best friends. He envied Hermione; she could stay in the private room she had earned when she was named headgirl and war hero.

Malfoy nodded stiffly, his only affirmative response to anything Harry had said so far.

A thick, sticky silence simmered between the three of them; McGonagall still sorting papers, Harry shifting from foot to foot, and Draco staring at the floor, his fingers still anxiously fidgeting with the hem of his tattered robes.

Five minutes of this awkward quiet passed before the Professor looked up, seeming confused. "Why are you still here? Go finish watching the sorting, then go to your rooms, for heaven's sake."

"Right. Let's go, Malfoy."

Harry paused at the door, glancing back at McGonagall. "How much time do we spend with him?" he asked. "Like, what do I do? How... close... are we supposed to be?" /If I can help it, I do /not/ want to be close to Malfoy... Hell, I don't even want to be /near/ him./

She rolled her eyes, dropping her pen to the desk with an imatient clatter. "Mr. Malfoy, will you step out for a moment? And please let the others in."

Oh, right. Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean were all waiting outside the office door, already having read the letter. None of them were happy about it, but they had certainly overreacted. All but Neville, who had just nodded with a little bit of a green tinge to his face; Malfoy had bullied him for years, afterall. Seamus had spat on the floor, Dean had given Malfoy a good shoulder-check when he'd left Harry and Draco in the office, but Ron had by far done the worst.

He'd actually swung at Malfoy, his fist grazing Draco's skin seconds before Neville pulled him back. Cruel, taunting words were sneered to him about his cowardly father, his disgusting, backstabbing character, and his pathetic, poverty-stricken family.

The scene had made a cold, silvery heaviness settle in Harry's gut and a thick, icy pressure weigh down on his chest.

Draco nodded at McGonagall, moving silently to the door and disappearing behind it a moment later.

Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean entered seconds later, all looking different degrees of frustrated. Arms were crossed tightly across chests, lips twisted into scowls or deep frowns.

They stood next to Harry, impatient looks on their frustrated faces.

"Okay," McGonagall breathed. "You all know that you'll be—"

"Babysitting," Ron interrupted flatly. The Professor arched an unimpressed eyebrow, cerulean eyes narrowing. "You will be monitoring him," she corrected. "I read the second part of the letter that none of you were permitted to see, and let me assure you that it did not cover nearly all the information this situation has led us to. It seems that there is more to this case then there should be, they have kept a lot from us. So Harry, though this job may have seemed easy before, Mr. Malfoy has a few... issues that haven't been adressed. Though I am quite disgusted with the lack of knowledge we have, his school files seem to hold more information then the Ministry appears to." A scowl bloomed on her face, the tip of her nose twitching like a cat's would.

Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a thick manilla folder with a bold "Draco Malfoy" stamped across the front and handed it to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I trust you to read this information carefully, share it with no one."

Before he could ask why the hell not, he was interrupted.

"What about us? Does he keep it from us?" Neville inquired.

"Yes, I was getting to that," she muttered, seeming rather distracted. "None of you four need to do this, even Harry doesn't, actually. He was just the only one the Ministry would leave Mr. Malfoy with, and if he wants to get out of it, all he had to do is say no and Malfoy is going to go straight back to the Manor. I would have kept you to your word previously, but with this new bout of information, I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Mr. Potter, you're in for quite a wild ride."

Harry wasn't ashamed to admit that he had considered leaving Malfoy to his punishment, he wasn't going to lie. But Draco had made a mistake, and Harry himself had made plenty of those, even if they weren't on such a drastic scale. Besides, he would just be rooming with him and making sure he wasn't killing anyone, McGonagall had assured him that was all he had to do. He could get out of the deal any time he wanted to.

"Anyhow," she continued. "I can place you four in seperate rooms and leave Harry and Draco seperate, if you would rather."

/Oh gods, no please guys don't leave me with Malfoy./

Ron was shockingly adamant when he shouted that they were /not/ leaving the Savior of the Wizarding World with fucking /Draco Malfoy/, the bloody ferret child, and they would be long dead before they ever did.

Seamus and Dean nodded with determination sparking in their eyes, and even Neville seemed firmly fixed on staying with Harry, even though he seemed shrouded in a nervous cloud.

"Alright then," Professor McGonagall agreed, her eyes flicking to the file in Harry's hands. "Make sure to look over that, Mr. Potter. If you feel the need to share it, share it /only/ with the ones watching over Mr. Malfoy."

"What about Hermione?" Ron interjected. McGonagall hesitated. "Mrs. Granger has proven herself trustworthy on many occasions," she finally said. "However, Mr. Potter, it is  
Mr. Malfoy's personal records, and I've only allowed you to see it because you'll be in closest contact with him, and it would be unfair if you didn't know what you were dealing with. You may not share it with her, and Mr. Weasley, I do not want to hear it. I'm sorry."

Harry actually understood. When he had first come to Hogwarts, he wasn't really that happy that everyone seemed to know more about him then he knew about himself, and Malfoy would probably feel the same. It was /his/ information, and from the look on McGonagall's face, it wasn't good news.

"I understand, Professor. It's Malfoy's business, and mine. I won't tell anyone."

She looked relieved. "Thank you."

Ron and Seamus and Dean rolled their eyes and looked genuinely annoyed, but Neville didn't seem to mind.

"Alright you all, go down to dinner. I'm sure Mrs. Granger is worried."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Where have you been?" hissed Hermione the second she saw them, arms crossed tightly across her chest. "The sorting's been over for an hour!"

Dean rolled his eyes sharply and plunked himself down harshly on the bench, dropping his head in his hand. Arching a brow, Hermione glanced over at Harry, but Ron placated her with a gentle arm across her shoulder and a kiss on her temple. "Sorry, 'Mione," he said cheerfully, popping a forkfull of hot mashed-potatoes with plumes of steam curling from them. His mood had immediately lifted when he saw the food, he'd even stopped jabbing dagger-eyes at Malfoy. "We were uh..."

"Babysitting," snapped Seamus, piling his plate high all the while and shoving a roll over to Dean. Harry, who had been standing slightly behind Malfoy, raised his eyebrows and made a chopping motion across his neck, making eye-contact with Hermione.

She just drew her brows together, so he mouthed, "I'll tell you later", and she left it at that.

"Er... have fun with that, Seamus. Let's eat, shall we?" Her fingers fidgeting with the ends of her waist-length, curly caramel-toned hair, she gestured to the spot beside her with a hand, her fingers trembling almost imperceptivity. "Sit, Malfoy, there's plenty of room."

A soft huff escaped him, but sat cautiously, eyeing the table with a narrowed gaze, probaly scrutinizing the quality of the mahogany or something. Harry sat down next to him, making sure Malfoy was at the end of their little line of students, knowing no one else would want to sit beside him.

"So... how was everyone's Summer?"

Eager to break the tension, everyone excluding Malfoy dove into the conversation at the exact same time, regaling everyone with funny stories and unfortunate mishaps that had occurred over the break.

They talked over each other, laughed loudly, and stuffed themselves to bursting that night, all still reeling with the nostalgic excitement of being back at Hogwarts.

Harry was home, even if there was a stuck up, stiff, rude blonde beside him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When dinner was over and the plates had been cleared, McGonagall stood, a fond smile slightly perking her thin lips up at the corners. "Alright, will the Prefects please lead everyone back to the dorms?"

Then she frowned slightly, stealing a glance over to the Slytherin table, with only two student, a first year sitting nervously by herself and Blaise Zabini, one of Draco's friends. "Cassie, you go with Mr. Zabini, he'll show you to your dorm. Prefects, you may go now."

The professor made direct contact with Harry, her brows drawing together. "Please keep an eye on your charges."

A flurry of "Yes, Professor"s filled the dining hall, and everyone stood, chairs grating loudly against the floor in a wooden scrape, chattering commencing as everyone bid the other houses goodbye.

Except for Cassie, she just stood quietly and shyly slid her slender hand into the Blaise's, keeping her dark blue eyes trained fixedly on the floor.

Harry smiled a little. Then frowned. /Right, Malfoy./

"Uh... come on, Malfoy," he said quickly, watching nervously while everyone filtered out of the hall, leaving them alone. To his immense relief, he didn't put up much of a fight, just stood and brushed the invisible dust off his ratty jacket.

He kept his blonde head lowered, and Harry found himself kind of happy. He didn't want to see those eyes.

The walk back to the rooms was silent, the only sounds the clack of their shoes against the polished floors of the castle. Malfoy's fringe brushed his high cheekbones, and Harry kind of wondered if it tickled. He wasn't going to ask.

He wasn't going to ask about the slight limp the blonde was walking with, either.

Their room was loud with the chatter of Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus as they babbled about nothing in particular, probably the newest flavor of Bott's Every Flavour Beans or the day of school tomorrow.

All chatter ceased immediately when Harry and his... companion walked into the room. Malfoy still didn't speak, and Harry shrugged helplessly at the inquisitive eyes boring into his forehead. "Go set out your stuff," he said flatly, unusre if he was supposed to literally babysit him or just supervise.

Luckily, Draco didn't comment and walked over to his bed. Harry almost had to stifle a laugh when his sharp nose scrunched up in disgust at the bright Gryffindor colors and the lack of silver and green.

He watched in amusement as Malfoy adjusted little things here and there, like the wrinkled edge of the covors or the bowed corner of the pillowcase, and Harry nearly yelped when he felt a finger tap against his shoulder.

"Neville! Geez, watch it mate, I didn't know you were there!" Harry snapped, causing Neville to apologize frantically.

"Sorry!" he said quickly, waving his hands in the air in what he thought was a placating gesture. "Didn't mean to scare you! I uh... wait, what was I doing?"

"Couldn't tell you," Harry snickered, leaning against the bedpost he was next to as he waited for Neville to remember. "Oh, right. McGonagall said she's having a bag brought up for Malfoy, apparently he didn't have one when he got here."

Ah, that wasn't a cause of concern at all, but Ron apparently disagreed.

"Wait, hold on," the redhead said suddenly, sitting up from his flopped over position on the bed. "Malfoy, the kid of the richest guy in the wizarding community, doesn't have a bag? Like, nothing?"

"Guess not," Neville shrugged.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy.

He was sitting against the pillows with a scowl plastered on his aristocratic face, lips twisted angrily. His arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, legs crossed neatly against the golden-red coverlet.

Ron snorted. "Not so rich anymore, huh, Malfoy?"

It was Draco's turn to scoff, shaking his head the tiniest bit, still not speaking, glaring out the window.

"Still high and mighty, then?" Ron jeered. Harry knew Draco deserved it, hell, he deserved to be in Azkaban with his father. But he knew what it was like to have nothing, and be treated like less than was deserved.

So hey, he could sympathize, shoot him. Not that he was going to do anything about it, since Malfoy actually /did/ deserve it.

They heard a soft knock on the door, and everyone (minus Draco) turned to watch Harry open the door. Blaise stood right outside, a hip cocked with one arm placed over the doorframe and a dark brown bag dangling neatly from his fingers.

Blankets ruffled behind him, and Harry turned to see Malfoy sitting up with the sheets pooled around his waist in a crumpled heap, eyes fixed on his friend.

Oh gods, his /eyes/...

Their normal pale, silvery misted color had darkened to storm grey, a thin sheen of shattered glass (metaphorical, of course) spread across his irises. His pupils were dilated to twice their normal size, pale blonde lashes thin. Shadows hung like drapes to the paper-thin flesh under his eyes, dark and daunting beneath his lashline.

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Hey Draco," Blaise muttered, his voice loud in the equally silent room. "McGonagall got you some shit. Let's get you set up, yeah?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, his voice low and scratchy from disuse as he finally gritted out, "Yeah."

It was the first time Harry had heard him speak since he'd arrived, and to be honest, he wasn't pleased with how rough his tone sounded. How long had it been since he'd spoken? Surely he talked to /someone/ at the Ministry, or at least his mother at the Manor.

Zabini walked over to Malfoy, setting the bag on the coverlet, wrinkling his nose as Draco had done when he saw the golden-red blaring back at him.

Leaning against the bedpost, Harry watched Blaise and Draco carefully rifle through the dresser that he and Malfoy waould be sharing, since the room wasn't made for so many people. He didn't really mind, or at least he wouldn't have if it had been anyone /other/ than the person he was sharing his limited space with.

Draco was immaculately careful as he pulled the clothes he'd recieved from the bag, standard Slytherin robes, perhaps a size too big, a few pairs of trousers, four or five black shirts, boxers, socks, and a set of toiletries that Blaise brought to the bathroom for him.

Harry noticed that all the clothes Malfoy recieved were either straight black or stark white, not a single striped pattern or checkered plaid was among the garments.

/Only the best for the Malfoy/, he thought cynically, knowing that these clothes were undoubtedly someone else's before they were passed on to Draco.

Zabini walked back into the bathroom with a scowl on his face, the glinting candlelight in the room glowing slightly on his high, sharp cheekbones. "All done," he informed his friend, then reached a flat palm out. "Let me see that hand, there's a few first aid things in the bathroom."

Malfoy slowly lowered his hand into Zabini's, his palm facing upwards as Blaise curled his fingers gently around his wrist. The peeling, searing redness of the burn was nearly black around the paleness of his hand, dark brown slowly furling around the crisped edges of Malfoy's skin. He hissed sharply when Blaise applied the slightest bit of pressure, and Zabini immediately led him into the bathroom with careful steps and a calculated glare at everyone else in the room.

Once they were alone, Ron and Seamus were quick to dig around in Malfoy's drawers and unfold all of his socks and rip all the seams so they would slide down his feet in his shoes, dumping the newest addition of the Weasley's joke shop, a bright red itching powder, into his underwear.

Harry snorted and leaned back into his bed, rifling around in the sheets until he found the letter McGonagall had wanted him to read over. However, he was quickly stopped when Ron slapped his hand onto the crisp paper, foregoing Harry's attempts.

"Read it when Malfoy's trying to sleep with a real bright reading light," he said, a devious smile on his face. "Gotta make him miserable tomorrow, right mate?"

"And what about everyone else who's trying to sleep?" asked Harry, arching a brow. Ron just waved a dismissive hand, answering, "We all said it would be fine, Neville can sleep through anything and Seamus and Dean can push their faces under the pillows."

"And Malfoy can't?"

"Well he could, but he'd be miserable. We put powder in his pillowcase too."

"Depriving an already sleep-deprived man of sleep? Cruel, Ron," Harry teased, sliding the letter back into the pristine envelope. The Weasley laughed. "Hermione'd be disgusted, but he kinda deserves it. He was a dick his whole life anyway, might as well see what that's like."

"Hmm, agreed."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The letter was daunting, all thick white paper and fancy curled script marching across the blank face of the parchment. The file next to him was even worse; the dark red "Draco Malfoy" kind of made him sick to his stomach. However, he gulped down his demise, turned his reading light a bit brighter, just to annoy Malfoy, and began.

First name: Draco

Last name: Malfoy

Sex: M

Direct Family: Lucius Malfoy (IMPRISONED) Narcissa Malfoy (ON HOUSE ARREST) Bellatrix Lestrange (DECEASED) Andromeda Tonks (ALIVE)

Convictions: Fought for Voldemort during the Wizarding War and took the Dark Mark, assaulted Harry Potter the Savior (Harry rolled his eyes at that one), Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, showed biggotry towards Muggleborns, attempted assault against Albus Dumbledore, who died shortly after said attempted assault (Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, knowing that Dumbledore's death was actually Snape's fault, seeming as Draco had dropped his wand), released hundreds of Death Eaters including his father into Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, damaged Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry property and assaulted one of his gaurds at the Ministry

Defenses: None

Motives: None

Explanations: None

Volunteers for the defense: None

Verdict: Guilty

Consequences: House arrest until 21, to serve 50 years in Azkaban OR share a room with Harry Potter and graduate with full Honors in Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a full year on best behavior, then sent to Azkaban for 30 years afterwards

Harry stared at the letter for another thirty seconds, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Everything was so unprofessional, especially for the Ministry of fucking Magic. No one to defend Malfoy, not a thing to help him during his trial, no reasons for his actions, none of this even seemed fair... Harry knew for a fact that Draco had indeed had some kind of motive, so he had a feeling that the person questioning must have not done a very thorough job. And explanations? What was that supposed to mean?

The thing that rubbed him the wrong way the most after this plethora of faulty 'professional' crap was the lack of personal information on Malfoy. Harry knew he'd find all the early stuff about Malofy's life in the school file, but what about what was happening while he was in custody of the Ministry, or what was going on during the war?

Weird.

He read briefly through the school file, finding nothing of real interest except for two notes written neatly in the corners of the paper. The first was in Dumbledore's familiar script, curling slightly with straight-backed capitals.

"Worrying attitude and actions during classes."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Worrying?" he muttered, keeping his voice low so no one could hear him. "He wasn't being worrying, he was just a prat."

The second note made him smile with a nostalgic sadness as he traced a thumb gently over the sentences. He knew Lupin's handwriting when he saw it. However, the actual message caused his lips to tip downwards and his eyebrows to furrow.

"Boggart is concerning."

/Damn it, what was his Boggart?/ Had he even been paying attention? Wait, had he even /seen/ Malfoy's Boggart? He couldn't remember if they had been in the same class when Lupin was training them how to defend themselves against their greatest fears... nah, they couldn't have been, Harry knew that every class he and Malfoy had been in together were nightmares, and that particular lesson was fun until the end.

Weird.

He glanced up, shaking his head a bit at the dizzyness that had settled in from reading for too long and looking up too quickly. Draco's bed was directly across from his, and Harry was in the middle of mentally complaining until he saw a glimpse of his face.

Malfoy's pale, sharp features was twisted in discomfort, his jaw clenched hard, his eyes squeezed shut. He had completely moved away from his pillow and was laying with his head at the food of his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, his thin shoulders shaking slightly.

They'd probably put the itching powder in his blankets too, Harry realized when he noticed that he hadn't pulled the sheets up. He shrugged and laid down, leaving the light on and stuffing his face in the pillows. Malfoy would just have to deal.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Oi, hey, Harry!"

A garbled groan left Harry's throat as he rolled over, trying his best to ignore the itchy, stinging sensation of a bright light grating (and quite rudely if he did say so himself) against his eyes so early in the morning.

"Mate, get up!"

"Go 'way, Ron," he grumbled, shoving his hand against his friend's shoulder in a desperate, sleep-hazed attempt to get him to leave. "Fuck off, 'm sleepin'." Ron scoffed. "Yeah, I noticed, c'mon!"

"Are we late?'

"No."

"Then leave."

"Mateeeee," whined Ron loudly as he snared his fingers in the sheets and yanked on the blankets tangled around Harry's chest. Then, in a much lower voice, "C'mon, we're about to put a limb-lock on Malfoy!"

Well now, that got Harry's attention, and he sat up quickly. "Huh?"

"We're putting a limb-lock on Malfoy! I wanna see how the 'dignified son of the Death Eater' acts when his legs are glued together." Harry groaned, rubbing his hand against his eyes and causing a black and blue sheen to burst across his lids. "Do you really think he... uh... you know what, go for it."

"Well you're the best with spells, so we were actually gonna ask you..."

"Oh, yeah sure."

Ignoring the twinge of discomfort in his chest and firmly reminding himself that yeah, Malfoy deserved this, Harry stood and drew his wand from beneath his pillow.

Malfoy was still sleeping on the wrong side of his bed, furled up into the tiniest ball he could seem to curl himself into. His face was still held in an uncomfortable grimace, but Harry ignored the feeling of guilt once again.

Malfoy was a right prat who had probably done this before, and probably deserved it now.

So he did it.

And he was surprised that he didn't feel proud, he didn't feel pleased, and he was actually kind of disgusted with himself when the act was over. He hated to see the mortified shock on Malfoy's face when he realized he couldn't seperate his legs and had fallen from the bed, landing face-down on the floor. He hated the loud, demeaning laughter that had spilled from everyone's lips but him and Neville, and the look on Malfoy's face when he had jerked himself from his position.

The look that read "I expected this from you". The hopeless glint of absolute "I knew this was going to happen" that spread across his once-proud face.

To Harry's surprise, he didn't actually react other than that. He just muttered a soft whisper of a curse after he seemed to remember he didn't have his wand, then hauled himself up his bed and laid there, the itchy powder probably biting and stinging his skin. He'd scoffed once, and dragged his hand across his skin, digging his nails in and leaving pale red trails across his temple and cheek.

After they'd had their fun, Ron and the rest had gone to the bathrooms to get ready for the day, leaving Malfoy in bed and Harry staring down at him, frowning. The silence in the room was heavy and tense, so he nearly jumped when Draco spoke to him, his voice cold and flat, so unlike the jesting, holier-than-thou tone he'd used to have.

"...Well, Potter? Are you going to undo this? If I miss any classes this year, I'm sure you are aware I'll be going back on house arrest." Then he scoffed again. "Oh, wait, no, I'm quite sure you'd like me to go back. Nevermind, my sincerest apologies."

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling sand-paper dry. "Um... yeah, I'll undo it. Sorry about that." He didn't know why the hell /he/ was apologizing, every bit of this was because of Malfoy's decision to join Voldemort and take the dark mark.

He undid the spell with a wordless flick of his wand, nibling on his lower lip as he watched Malfoy haul himself to his feet. He was going to give a half-assed warning about the itching powder in the boxers, but he held his tongue, reminding himself that Malfoy couldn't have deserved Harry's help if he tried.


	2. Chapter 2

One year.

That's all Draco had to endure. One suffocating year of sweltering bodies packed in the hallways , one more cloying year of the gathering pain in his stomach, head and neck, one more /fucking/ year of the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his self-righteous braniac and indolent weasel.

Oh yeah, and another year of hatred-packed, fury-smouldering frustration-brimming glares from students and teachers alike. Was he losing his sanity? No. Was he going to in the very imminent future?

Fuck yeah.

There were two things keeping him going: His mother, and the snarky little voice in his head that made a joke out of every damn thing that happened to him.

The Ministry had brought him to Azkaban for a week to 'let him see what he could be looking forward to'. The cell was dank and dirty, and according to the bedraggled, bearded prisoner with dirt caking his thin eyelashes, it flooded 10 months out of the year, and was often so cold he could probably go ice-skating on the frozen water.

During the week of his filthy stay in the cell, he'd found that the information he had been give was very, very true, amongst other things.

He returned back to his lodgings in the Ministry with rat-bitten skin and food-poisoning from the black bread they served once every two days, along with stone-scraped knees and a sore throat. His gaurd had told him that if he kneeled pretty and sucked his dick, he could eat that night and the next morning. If he didn't, the prisoner next to him could get their first kiss, or in other words, a Dementor could suck the soul out of her.

He was about to refuse and let it happen, until he saw Pansy's thin, shaking form next to him, her pupils dilated and eyes shimmering with a thin gloss of tears.

So he'd done it.

His dignified Malfoy name was tainted as the man's thick, bitter seed coated the inside of his throat, as his esophagus convulsed when the crown of the man's steel-hard member grazed the back of his throat, as he stood with tears glistening in his eyes from the gag-reflex that had been triggered.

He couldn't make eye-contact with Pansy, and he hadn't told his mother, knowing that his little introduction with another man's hard-on might as well be a second sentence when he returned to stay in Azkaban.

His mother was staying in the Manor, alone in the echoing halls and the blood-stained past that racked every shutter and window of that house. As soon as he graduated, or got kicked out, neither were really looking good, he was going to Azkaban for however long they sentenced him, then he and his mother were going to the dingy little cottage in France.

She swore to him she'd send a letter every day.

Narcissa had pressed one into his hand before he left, leaving a lingering kiss on his forehead and a crystalline tear soaking into his drab robes.

They hadn't been able to afford anything but the filthy, used robes, seeing as the Minister of Magic had deemed it proper to strip them of their riches, unlodge every emerald from their necklaces and earrings and peel every single sliver of silver from the paintings, burn all the books in the library, tatter the edges of every gown and rip the canopies on the beds.

The aurors had even cast an Inferno on the family portrait that hung proud and gleaming in the entry hall, the only painting Draco remembered where his father was smiling, his blond hair shining as he gripped his wife's hand and settled a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.

Draco still remembered the soft pressure of the palm on the thick foam of his shoulder pad.

The letter she had handed him said that she had found out his sentence, and the daunting 'thirty years in Azkaban' sliced a thick rope of terror striking through his thin form. If he failed the year or wasn't on his best behavior, he might even get fifty.

The regret of snapping at the fucking Golden Boy this morning had immediately silenced him for the rest of the day. His mother's gentle reminder, 'Speak only when spoken to' fueled him to survive.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The new potions teacher wasn't anything like Snape.

Professor Sistine had stern, smart midnight blue eyes with an underlying whisper of kindness and dark mocha hair that curled in a smooth, coffee-colored wave to the curve of her slender hips. She wore a thick cloak the color of the deepest part of the ocean with stars scattered across the fabric, embroidered lines stitching together the constellations, and a pointed hat made of the same fabric to match.

She taught the material with a more in-depth thorough understanding than Snape did, her mind more on if the students knew what she was talking about rather than if she could take her lunch break and snatch her pay-check yet.

The woman had a firm grasp on the other subjects being taught too, so if you had a question that you were too scared to ask, she could easily answer it.

She didn't value favoritism either, which Draco appreciated. She treated him and the damnable Golden Trio exactly the same, and /she/ picked where everyone sat, directly after peeling Dean's hand of Seamus's thigh.

Professor Sistine stared at him for a second, the clear blue of her eyes stroking up and down his figure, no judgement clouding her. "Mr. Malfoy, you'll be next to Mr. Potter, if you please," she directed, because /of course/ she did.

Potter scowled, lips twisting bitterly as he grabbed his stuff from Draco's side of the desk, gesturing with a vague wave of his hands, eyes narrowed to emerald slits. Professor Sistine hesitated for a second, then gave a gentle nudge to the blonde's shoulder.

Her show of support was silent and mostly unseen, but it helped him summon the strength to snare his lower lip between his teeth and slowly approach the desk, almost like a wounded animal would. He lowered his ratty bag to the smooth wooden surface and pulled out his homework, then waited for the lesson to commence.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 

Potter was mostly silent throughout the whole lesson, but Draco could feel his furious eyes boring holes in his back when he went to get the potions ingredients from the cabinet.

But honestly, he didn't give a fuck if Potter hated him, because he most certainly had the right.

Draco brought a precariously teetering pile of ingredients back to the desk and making sure they didn't touch Potter, seeing as his skin was so red from supressed anger it kind of looked like he would set them on fire if they grazed him.

The Golden Boy let out a scoff and slammed a finger down on the page of ingredients, denting the paper slightly and showing Draco that he'd forgotten a container of antimony and a bicon horn.

/Apologies Potter/, he thought bitterly, standing again, his chair screeching loudly against the slats of the floor as he stood. /It's most definitely my fault that I tried to touch a letter addressed to myself and burned the skin off my fucking hands in the process./

"Alright, Malfoy," Potter announced when he got back. "You do that half of the potion, I'll do this half."

Draco swiped his eyes briefly across the page, gritting his teeth at the fact that he would do most of the stirring, and with his hands? It wasn't happening. But he couldn't /fail/ this class. Hell, he couldn't fail /any/ classes, or else his arse was going right back in Azkaban faster then you could say "Welcome to your cell".

He flinched slightly, but slowly rasped out, "I can't stir, Potter. I can't fail this class, either."

Maybe if he played the part of the poor little victim, the Boy Who Wouldn't Die would do him a favor.

Unfortunately, he just earned himself an arched eyebrow. "Well that's a shame."

Right. It was Potter. He didn't know what he had been expecting.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Blaise was a good friend.

He led Draco over to the Slytherin table to sit with him and Cassie, sparing a vicious glare for Potter when he tried to explain that "Malfoy needs to stay with me!"

"Like hell he does," snapped Blaise, firmly draping a dedicated arm around Draco's waist. "You're just keeping an eye on him, you can see him just fine from over here." Then his Slytherin side seeped out, and he flashed a charming smile at Granger. "Guess we should ask the brains though, no? Granger? That okay with you?"

/Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh—/

Her olive skin flushed pink, bright eyes widening as she stuttered out, "N-no, that's fine. As long as... um... as long as Harry can see him, it's fine, I think." Of course, the Mudblood probably hadn't ever been told directly that she was the smart one.

Even Draco could admit that she was wallowing around blithering idiots with brains the size of the peas Weasel-bee was shoveling into his mouth.

Cassie really sealed the deal though, when she pulled slightly on Blaise's sleave and whispered, "Are you coming?"

He snickered a little. "We're coming, go on and sit."

Blaise shot Granger another smile, then pulled Draco down to where Cassie was sitting at the table and kicking her feet, short little legs not quite reaching the floor.

Despite how good everything looked, he really couldn't bring himself to eat anything. Everytime he swallowed, the memory of swallowing around another man's member and release flooding down his throat washed over him and demolished his appetite.

He clenched his eyes shut, hissing air out through his teeth.

"Draco," Blaise muttered, dropping a hand down on his shoulder and sqeezing, the firm pressure grounding. "You gotta eat something. Hagrid's class is next. Gotta be prepared for that Hippogriff, right?"

It was a pathetic attempt of humor, but humor was an exit to the pain, so Draco took it.

"Yeah," he snickered. "Not my fault the stupid beast didn't cut his nails." That earned a giggle out of Cassie and a smile from Blaise, who pushed an inconspicuous bread roll towards him, mouthing, "Eat it", before returning his attention to the first year in front of her.

The airy bread clogged his throat and would probably be a rock in his stomach, but he shoved it down. He tried to wash it down with water, but it clotted in his throat and brought stinging tears to his eyes, gag reflex triggered again.

He ignored Blaise's sad eyes as he pushed away from the table, moving quickly to the bathrooms and stripped the lining from his stomach, heaving until only bile was still spilling from his lips.

There were gentle, warm hands rubbing his back and pulling his fringe away from the mess in front of him, and he collapsed back into Blaise's body.

"Where's Cassie?" he mumbled. Blaise checked his condition before answering, "I left her with a Hufflepuff. Seemed reliable enough, it was Zacharius Smith. He told me to tell you he hopes you feel better."

"What'd you tell him?"

"You caught a bug. He said you should be in bed, and I told him I'd tell you." He helped Draco up with a firm look in his eyes. "I told him he was right."

The blonde scoffed as he moved to the sink, rinsing his mouth out with tepid water. "Too bad I can't exactly miss any classes, especially that oaf's," he snapped, a biting snare of bitterness pressing in his stomach. "He'd probably send me to Azkaban anyway he could, heavan knows he's been before."

A long pause ensured, the only sound the trickle of water spilling into the sink below them. Blaise was the first to break it.

"What happened in Azkaban?" he muttered finally, sounding like he was scared to know. A muffled, "You don't wanna know" escaped Draco's lips, and he gained himself a gentle shove.

"You're my best mate, of course I wanna know."

"Ah yes, undying Zabini loyalty. Said no one ever."

"Draco."

"Okay, okay. Geez." Really though, even with the humor he had tried to incorporate into the conversation, he couldn't bring himself to say what it was even /like/ in there, even though he knew Blaise wouldn't accept that. All that would gain him was a glare and a firm 'Draco Malfoy' until he got it out.

So he inhaled slowly, tapped his fingers in an anxious dance on the counters, and finally choked out, "I sucked someone off so they wouldn't kill Pansy."

There weren't any explosions or firewords, no Dementors arrived and tried to suck his soul away and Harry Potter didn't burst in and scream "Expecto Patronum!" It was strangely quiet.

Nothing happened, exept a soft, "Oh, gods, Draco."

He laughed, the dry humor of something horrible thick and cloying in his throat, the tension headache ha'd had for at least a week intensifying.

"Do me a favor, will you mate?"

"Yeah. Anything."

"Don't tell my father about this."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Blaise left reluctantly fifteen minutes later, apologizing profusely as he said he had to get Cassie to her classes, seeing as no one else had been willing to show the Slytherin around.

He'd hugged Draco, firmly saying, "We're gonna get you through your classes," before walking though the bathroom door.

Draco waited another ten minutes before he'd be late to class, but he certainly wasn't expecting The Golden Boy to be just about to go inside looking for him.

They both froze, the blonde feeling like a man caught redhanded and Potter looking like he'd rather be anywhere than where he was than outside the bathrooms waiting for the guy who had tried to kill everyone. Multiple times.

When he saw Draco's gaunt figure and red-rimmed eyes, he must have re-thought something though, because the annoyed look filtered into a sheepish smile. "Uh... hi?"

Oh yeah, that was the Potter Draco knew. The annoying one for sure, but way better then the bitter, one he'd known since the war.

Draco just nodded, feeling slightly annoyed when the dark-haired teen fell into step beside him. "I just came to make sure you weren't dead, since I'm supposed to keep an eye on you and... stuff."

/Ah, yes, eloquent as always, Potter./ He nodded again, mumbling, "I just need to get my bag." /Don't piss him off./

"I think 'Mione got it for you."

The confused, "What?" blurted out of his thoat before he could help it. Potter snorted. "Yeah, she said you seemed upset or something. What the hell were you doing in there? You missed like, 90% of dinner and left that kid with a prick."

Draco suppressed a snort, knowing that Potter's personal bias against Zacharius Smith didn't mean anything. "I was throwing up," he answered bluntly as possible. "Why? Did you want to join me?"

/Fuck. Well now I'm definitely going back to Azkaban./ But he couldn't /help/ it. It was the perfect response, and his shrewd Slytherin-ness had been brimming too far.

To his surprise, Potter just laughed. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Come on then."

The walk was quiet, but Draco found he would rather it be quiet than be foreced to talk.


	3. Not an Update

Uh... so this is kinda awkward, but I think I'm going to be deleting this work. I honestly didn't think it through very well, so that's my bad, and I'm really sorry and now I will always have an outline before I get an idea. I'm really really sorry, but thank you to everyone who left kudos and encouraging comments!!!

Also, does anyone know how to italicize words? I only know how to do it like /this/ and that's not really what I want it to do.


End file.
